


Trounced

by plothound



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Unity
Genre: Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Oral Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 12:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: Arno, after a couple years of working for the Assassins, thinks he's hot shit. Elise, trained in swordsmanship from a young age, teaches him otherwise, and reminds him that he's pretty subby.





	Trounced

Arno leaned over and gave Elise a one-armed embrace as she sat down at the table. “Good lord,” he said playfully. “When was the last time you bathed?”

 

She graced him with a good-natured smile that still managed to tell him to go shove it up his ass, a trick that she was remarkably talented at pulling off. “This morning. It’s been a busy day, and I didn’t want to miss the new play.”

 

“I think you probably still have some time if you want to wash up.” He looked up at the stage, which remained free of props. Last night’s scenery was still up. The theater was behind schedule, which was at least partially explained by muffled yelling from backstage, which could just barely be heard over the hubbub of the full cafe. “Though you may need rather a lot of time.”

 

“Duly noted,” she said, frown deepening. Oh. He’d pushed it too far. He could see the beginnings of the wrinkle around her nose that meant she was getting annoyed at him. “Does it bother you that much?” 

 

“No,” he said comfortably, anxious to mollify her. “I rather like it. I like being reminded that you can kick other people’s asses into the Seine.”

 

“Yours, too, I would imagine.” The wrinkle was deepening.

 

“Well, no,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t think so.” He felt that they were starting to edge into dangerous territory, but couldn’t think of any safer waters in particular that he might direct the conversation toward. Oh, God. Wine? How full the cafe was? Speculation on the cause of the disturbance behind the curtain?

 

Elise leaned onto the table, giving him a hard look, but her voice was polite. The cold sort of politeness that one used when one would rather be rude. “Excuse me?”

 

“I, well…” She wasn’t going to debate him, was she? “Well, I’m taller than you, with better reach.” He grinned with sudden inspiration. “Not to mention rather stronger.” He reached over and squeezed her slim arm.

 

“Arno.” She said it quietly, but it rang out like a striking axe, and he nearly flinched. Oh, that had backfired badly. She looked irritated now, and not in the casual, entertained sort of way that they enjoyed together, but in the genuinely insulted sort of way. “I have been groomed to be a Templar all my life. You’ve had, what, two years of training from the Assassins? In addition to whatever brief tutoring in swordsmanship you received before that.”

 

“Well, yes,” he said. “But as it relates to you and me, it’s more a question of mass.” 

 

“Mass?” she said, raising her eyebrows. Oh, God, definitely starting to get angry. Shit. “You believe contests of arms are a question of  _ mass.” _

 

“Well, not exclusively, obviously,” he hedged, “but I’d say it plays a prominent role.”

 

“Would you care to test this enlightening theory?”

 

“What, now?” he said in surprise. “What about the play?”

 

“The play can wait. Training room. Now.” She stood in the single smooth, powerful movement that he’d always envied, and strode off toward the stairs.

 

By the time he’d caught up with her, she was standing across the room from him, the polished wood floor glimmering beneath them. Her sword was already drawn.

 

He hesitated for a moment, feeling that this had all gone further than he had anticipated, before he took his halberd in hand. “Mademoiselle,” he said, gesturing grandly in a last attempt at humor. She ignored it, which was all right, really, he’d get this over with quickly and then they could  _ oh shit she’s fast.  _

 

She came in slashing, which was a mistake, of course, and he moved to parry her with the bladed end of the pole while swinging the blunt end back toward her shin. Then the point of her blade danced almost too fast to follow, flicking effortlessly out of its cut and gracefully slicing up under the halberd to rest on his collar, while her free hand caught the pole and kept it away from her legs.

 

“Oh,” Arno said in surprise. “Let’s try that again.”

 

She trounced him. He couldn’t believe it. They must have gone ten bouts, and he didn’t win a single bloody one of them. God, she was fast, an absolute demon with her sword, and in the last round she even did something funny with her foot that caught his and made him fall rather painfully on his ass.

 

He shoved his hood back and ran his fingers through his hair, panting. “God,” he said. “You’re rather good.”

 

“Thank you.” Her hair still looked excellent. How was she doing that? “Again?”

 

“Just the one,” he said. “Just one more.”

 

He lasted a bit longer, at least. They got in a few good exchanges before she knocked him flat on his back.

 

“All right,” he said. He dropped the halberd. “All right, I give. You can kick my ass as well.”

 

“Thank you,” she said.

 

He smiled up at her. “You do smell nice.”

 

She smiled back. This time it was a smile of the small, amused variety. Then, to his complete and utter shock, she shifted her waistcoat out of the way a little, dipped two fingers into her breeches, crouched, and put the fingers to his lips with a gentle but insistent pressure.

 

He took them into his mouth without thinking. They tasted like her. Oh, God, he hadn’t tasted that in— 

 

“Arno Victor Dorian,” Elise said, her voice soft but commanding. “If you’re not in my quarters and between my legs in the next five minutes, I’ll know the reason why.”

 

He spent ten seconds watching her leave, wondering whether her ass was still as gorgeous under that coat as it had been under her various gowns, five staring at the door that she closed behind her, another ten leaping back to his room, thirty or so stripping out of his gear, three minutes wondering what he ought to wear, and the rest throwing on a shirt and trousers and heading to her room as fast as he could without getting out of breath.

 

He knocked politely.

 

“Come in,” came the calm response.

 

He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

 

She was lying nude on her bed, a book in hand. Every inch of her spoke of supreme confidence, much like a cat. A very sexy cat—Arno regretted that line of thought. The skin of her legs and torso was paler than that on her arms and face, which faded into a lightly tanned and freckled beauty laced with a few fine scars. Like this, it was also easy to see that she was pretty well solid muscle. It made Arno feel a bit embarrassed, honestly. 

 

She didn’t look up from the book. “You can start.”

 

He drank in the sight of her for a little longer before he dropped between her legs and kissed the inside of her thigh. Her skin was soft and silky, exactly as he remembered it, but there was less softness to her flesh now; the past few years hadn’t been kind to her. He licked her, tasting her sweat, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She always did eventually, even if it was only to tell him to get a move on. 

 

She held out for a long time. His tongue was sore and he was running out of ways to tease the delicate skin of her thighs and the edges of her mound by the time she sighed and let her book drop against her belly. He looked up at her, giving her as smoldering a look as he could manage, taking the opportunity to get an eyeful of her truly lovely breasts, and taking some pride in the fact that the beautiful pink nubs atop them were hard. God, she was exquisite.

 

Her mouth was twisted off to one side in a suppressed smile. “Are you planning to do your job at all?”

 

“The very moment you ask me to. And remember, I usually require fairly specific instructions.”

 

She sighed and leaned her head back, but she was still smiling, and there was something that was almost a hint of a laugh in her voice. “Then I’d like you to apply yourself more centrally, if you don’t mind.”

 

He surged up and planted a kiss just below her navel, where he knew she was ticklish. “I believe this is as central as I can possibly be, just here—”

 

She swatted him with the book, stifling a laugh. “Should you require me to be so vulgar, you could ask. Lick my cunt, then.”  

 

He had been planning to drop some sort of witty line at that, but he found that licking Elise’s pussy had in fact become his most pressing concern, and he went for it.  _ Oh God  _ she tasted exquisite, just like he remembered, and she was so warm and—he pulled back in sudden surprise. “Wet.”  _ Very  _ wet.

 

“Your observational skills are noted,” Elise said. He looked up at her, lips wet with her, and she smiled. “Did you think I didn’t miss you, Arno?”

 

Oh,  _ that  _ got him going. He could feel himself thick and hot in his trousers, and couldn’t stop himself from grinding a little against the bed, just enough friction to send a rush of heat through him, before returning to his task with enthusiasm. Soft and warm and  _ wet for him,  _ and he remembered her folds, how to mouth at them gently with his lips so she tensed beneath him, and he remembered her dripping, clenching entrance, how she liked him to go just a little inside, enough to feel the stretch, but not too far, and he remembered her clit, delicately hooded, and he remembered to avoid that, too sensitive, and instead focus on the part of it that was concealed. That, she could enjoy.

 

He kept at her, steering well clear of her clit for now, however it throbbed and begged. He’d give it to her when she told him to, not before. He rather liked doing what Elise told him to, of course, but he’d always been one to chafe against restraints, and he knew she didn’t mind his small insolences. She’d tell him when she wanted more.

 

No, for now he took her quite literally again, concentrating his efforts on her entrance, teasing it into softening for him. She was wet now, but he’d have her dripping before he was done. He started slow, working his way in from her lips, making clever use of his lips and tongue to guide himself further in, and eventually to lick around her, but he built his way up from there, going faster and deeper until he brought up a finger to help him, one that he eased carefully inside. It was hard going with finger and tongue crowding in together, but he made it work. Nothing had yet stopped him from making a woman come with his mouth, and a question of logistics certainly wasn’t going to deter him.

 

It wasn’t long before he was burying his face in her, moaning softly. He couldn’t stop his hips from bringing him slowly and gently against the bed, grinding on the sheets in shaky thrusts. Christ, he was hard. It’d really been far too long since he’d kissed her, especially like this, down where he could see and feel and taste how well he was doing, and his cock loved it.  _ Oh  _ God, he wanted more, he wanted to touch himself, or for her to touch him, anything to relieve the burning need built up hot between his legs, but he wouldn’t dream of it; Elise would tell him when he could finish.

 

Fuck, he hoped it would be soon.

 

She clenched around his finger, hard, and her thighs flexed up off the bed on either side of his head. He could hear her toes digging into the sheets, and he could feel her breathing deep, but he wasn’t about to let up. Oh, God, he wanted to hear her make a noise. Any sort of noise, but preferably that deep, breathy sigh that meant she was about to give in and tell him to go  _ harder  _ already. 

 

His cock twitched at the thought of it, and he thought he could feel a touch of damp at his tip. Had it really been so long that he was leaking for her? God, he hoped so. He’d show her before he came. He’d pull his trousers down and let her see the patch, let her see how hard and ready he was for her, without a hand to coax him along. He knew she’d love it. She always loved seeing what she could do to him without so much as touching him, sometimes without so much as speaking. Or sometimes, she’d be dressed, sitting in a chair or on a sofa or lying on her bed back at her family’s estate, and he’d be in the room with her, stripped bare for her so she could see his reactions in real time when she told him what she’d do to him later. He’d never managed to come entirely untouched, but it had been close a number of times, and he’d always aspired to finish the job.

 

It wasn’t a sigh she gave him. It was a  _ moan,  _ infinitely better, the sort of thing he usually didn’t hear until she was coming, and he had to pull away to gasp and thrust hard up against the bed when he heard it. “Go on, then, Arno,” she said, and  _ that  _ was more of a sigh, but a strained one. “Go on, kiss me there. Go on.”

 

He managed to stall for a few seconds, due in part to the immense effort it took to resist the urge to start grinding up against her leg to finish himself then and there. Then he leaned over her clit, listening to his own shaky breathing, and let a strand of mixed saliva and slick drip on it. She shuddered beneath him, a gorgeous motion that highlighted the gloss of her sweaty body, muscles rippling in a beautiful concert beneath the skin, and punctured the sound of her breathing with the tiniest of gasps from deep in her chest. Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ, he couldn’t possibly be expected to resist that.

 

He planted his lips over her and set to, careful not to touch the exposed surface too much and instead focusing on the hooded part, treating it a little like he might a cock. He dragged it back and forth over her sensitive clit, and she  _ oh God  _ kept moaning above him. Her legs were flexing, her hands knotting themselves into the sheets, her hips shifting just a little, her hole squeezing around his finger. He added another for good measure—if she was going to go through the trouble of clenching, she ought to have something to clench around properly—and kept at it, fingers massaging her insides, mouth working her clit, his free left hand wrapped around her thigh. 

 

She was throbbing and pulsing in his mouth, he could feel it, just like he was throbbing and pulsing in his trousers. She had to be getting close. Maybe not as close as him, because  _ fuck  _ he could come right this second if she so much as put a hand on his shoulder, but she had to be getting close. He dove in with a vengeance, doubling his efforts. He picked up the pace, not minding the way she pressed herself hard up into him, her hips lifting from the bed.

 

Then the moans got louder, and she suddenly released the sheets and slid her fingers into his hair, leaning over him and gasping. Her belly and chest were heaving inches away from him, and she was—oh, God, she was saying his name, over and over, barely intelligible, but she was saying it. “Arno, Arno, Arno,  _ Arno—”  _

 

He wasn’t even aware that he’d come for a moment; he was fixated on her climax as she groaned it above him and it spasmed against his lips. But by the time they had both gotten their heads back a little, he was well aware of a wet heat in his trousers. 

 

He rolled over onto his side a little and undid the buttons to show her. It was obvious when he peeled the fabric away what had happened, and to his absolute delight, he heard her give a low moan at the sight. His cock, exhausted, still managed to twitch a little in response—he’d done it, he’d done well for her—and she bent down and kissed him on the forehead. 

 

“Excellent,” she said softly. “That was really excellent.” She kissed him again. “You did so well.”

 

He turned onto his back and rested his head in her lap. “You enjoyed yourself?”

 

“Very much so.” She stroked his face gently. “I confess I found that much more interesting than the play.”

 

He grinned and kissed her fingers. “And I confess that I still think we could seriously do with a bath.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that pretty much everything I post involves an apology for the break between updates, but I swear I'm actually working on stuff this time, it's just that I've made the mistake of working on a whole lot of things at once and have not yet finished any of them. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't posted anything in three weeks, so I panicked and slapped an ending on this older fic from right after I played Unity (which was not nearly as bad as the entirety of the internet led me to believe, thank you very much). Hope you enjoy it!


End file.
